Truth or Dare(devil)
by Yuna Yami Mouto
Summary: When all is done and the Hessian is finally returned to purgatory, Ichabod Crane thought Sleepy Hollow will find peace. But before he returns to his home, he is confronted with the fact that not all is as it seems and that the devil never rests. New beheadings haunt Sleepy Hollow as Crane tries to make sense of it while two constables join him in his investigation.


**Truth or Dare(devil)**

 **Summary: When all is done and the Hessian is finally returned to purgatory, Ichabod Crane thought Sleepy Hollow will find peace. But before he returns to his home, he is confronted with the fact that not all is as it seems and that the devil never rests. New beheadings haunt Sleepy Hollow as Crane tries to make sense of it while two constables join him in his investigation.**

 **A/N: Hi! This is my first Sleepy Hollow (1999) story so I hope you like it. Quick warning, though. There's, like, microscopic Ichabod/Horseman slash at the very end, although it has been hinted in a few places. Nothing much. There's literally maybe one or two instances where it might look like slash, if you're against that, so, yeah. A little warning. Anyway, I hope you like it and that you will please be so nice to review? Thank you in advance and enjoy the story!**

It was amazing how not even twenty four hours ago, this little village had seemed so haunted that no one would dare venture out of their little homes. The air in the village was somehow a lot less thick and a lot easier to breathe, the skies were clearer, allowing a lot more moon light to come through but, like every other night since he had come to Sleepy Hollow, constable Ichabod Crane could not make out any stars. It was as though no stars shone over Sleepy Hollow, no matter which night it was or whether there was a ghost haunting the Western Woods.

The lanky young man sighed, checking one last time whether he had tied Gunpowder right or not. He hadn't done it right the first time around and the mare had sought out the Van Tassel house, where he was still residing with Katrina and young Master Masbet until tomorrow, when he was scheduled to return to New York. He would return a few days later, after he settles things with his landlady - he _was_ bringingtwo people to live with him, after all - and after he hands over his report about the murders in the Hollow, so he could take them to the city with him. He had come awake to the sound of impatient hooves and the neighing of a horse, panic overtaking him for a second that the nightmare was not over yet, only to look out of the window and to see it was just Gunpowder. Maybe the horse understood he was leaving her behind and she wanted to protest? Ichabod wasn't that good with horses but he understood enough that he and young Masbet were the only people left in the Hollow that the gray horse was still at all familiar with.

Ichabod had just sighed tiredly and had come down to get the horse, led her to the stables and had had to stay with her up until now, well past midnight. The beast was a tricky little bugger, neighing in distress at every noise and sound, prompting Ichabod to stay, both to calm the horse down and to calm his own nerves. It was fascinating, how he had found the courage to remain after seeing the Headless Houseman in action and facing an _actual_ witch, but he flinched and jumped at every sound in the night. He guessed that was what people called irony. He also guessed he was acting like this _because_ of all of that as well. He had come to the Hollow searching for a murderer, a man of flesh and blood, but he had found ghosts and witches. In comparison to the late Lady Van Tassel, the Hessian seems almost like child's play. Yes, he was the sword in the Lady Van Tassel's hand - and what a deadly and efficient sword he was - but he was just a puppet until his head was returned to him. In the end, what was the true terror of the whole event was actually the cruelty of a scorned woman, the hypocrisy and corruption in such a small settlement as well as how little some of these people cared to help each other. They had been ready to throw Ichabod under the Horseman's hooves just to save their own heads. Literally.

Ichabod sighed as he thought about the past couple of weeks. It had been a tough fortnight for everyone, especially the poor constable, since he had had to dig up graves, do autopsies, attend seemingly numerous funerals, chase and run from ghosts, unearth the Hessian's grave and cut a bleeding tree, playing keep away with a witch for the Horseman's skull and then seeing the very horrific way the Horseman had given the Lady Van Tassel that bloody kiss before they disappeared into the Tree of the Dead. Katrina had not had it easy, either, and neither had young Masbet. Young Masbet's father had been killed and then Brom, Katrina's main suitor before Ichabod had come into town, and then her father, all killed by the Horseman because the Black Witch had wanted the Van Tassel's fortune and revenge. All three of them had nearly been killed on multiple occasions and it was just a relief to know it was all over, even though Ichabod, for some reason, thought his little adventure in Sleepy Hollow had only just begun.

He finally left Gunpowder in her stall and exited the stables, feeling stiff and tired but he had a feeling he won't be getting any sleep tonight. He was too spoked and far too worked up for that now, all thanks to Gunpowder. He made a brisk walk towards the Van Tassel home, stopping when the sound of hooves and the heavy breathing of a horse registered not ten feet away from the property. He grunted in frustration and twirled around, ready to snap at the stubborn horse even though he knew he probably shouldn't take his frustration out on a perfectly loyal horse, only to go even paler than he already was when he caught sight of the beast before him.

It was unmistakable. The horse was bigger than any Ichabod had ever seen, bigger than any horse you could hope to find in a small place like Sleepy Hollow, standing taller than Ichabod by maybe some two feet or so. Its coat and mane were perfectly black, making the horse almost blend in completely with the darkness of the night, except for the way the light of the moon reflected on the black hairs like a sheen on a metal blade that made it stand out. The eyes were black like the rest of the horse and it was an intimidating figure far too close for Ichabod's liking. Ichabod gulped as he stared into the eyes of the Hessian's stallion, the one and only Daredevil.

Crane felt his stomach drop as he looked at the giant horse. That was a _lot_ of power in one horse. He still remembered his impromptu ride on the horse's back when the Hessian had thrown him off of the chariot while he was trying to kill Katrina just the night before. It was as though a cannon was continuously exploding beneath him and Ichabod had known that if he should fall, his neck would have snapped like a twig. But as much as he feared the ghostly horse - who actually didn't look like a ghost at all and was actually quite solid, thank you very much - he couldn't help but admire it, either. It was a very beautiful and very powerful war horse, loyal to a fault to his rider. And speaking of the horse's rider ... Ichabod looked in fear upwards, beyond Daredevil's head, expecting to see the no longer headless Hessian sitting there and staring down at him with those strange ice colored eyes, only to find the horse's back bare. Which, of course, had Ichabod panicking even more, looking around as subtly as he could, afraid he'd somehow spook the horse into running over him, but Daredevil made no sign of moving and the Hessian was no where in sight.

The constable looked back at the horse as he took one step back, pulse quickening when Daredevil followed, mimicking him step for step until Ichabod tripped over air and fell in his back ... Or he _would_ have, had Daredevil not snagged his shirt between his teeth and neighed in disapproval as he tugged Ichabod back to his feet. The pale, shaking man could only stare at the horse, not knowing what to do even as he got his feet back under him. Daredevil let go of his shirt and tossed his head from side to side, as if in reprimand towards him and Ichabod didn't know whether he should feel sheepish or insulted. Still, he was grateful that he hadn't been trampled over but he wasn't sure what to make of the horse either way. It didn't look like the friendliest of horses. And hadn't it disappeared into the Tree of the Dead along with the Hessian like, not even a full day ago? What was it doing here and why hadn't it tried to, what, kill him? Why would it? It only followed where its master led.

"Um, I believe thanks are in order, I guess?" He ventured hesitantly, trying to take another step back and away from the beast, only for Daredevil to neigh in disapproval and snag his shirt again, tugging him back. Ichabod yelped but complied, still more than terrified at what the horse might do to him if he in some way offends it. Do horses even take offense? He'd rather not find out. "May I inquire," he continued cautiously, never taking his eyes off of the horse. "If there is a reason to you being here?" _I thought you disappeared with the Horseman for good_ , was what he left out, just in case it _did_ take offense. "And where is your master?" He asked curiously, really wondering why the two were separated. You can't be much of a horseman without a horse. Had Ichabod been less terrified, he knew he would have dissolved into giggles at the image of the Hessian trotting about, grumbling under his breath about where Daredevil could have gotten off to.

Daredevil snorted and pulled Ichabod closer again, only he twisted his neck to the side so Ichabod came to stand practically by his saddle. The poor constable was sure his heart was going to jump out of his chest but he tried his best to fight off one of his fainting spells. Now was not the time to be vulnerable. He let the horse manhandle him until it was satisfied, but then it let go and Ichabod was left staring at its plank, confused. Daredevil made an impatient noise and Ichabod, more out of his newborn habit with Gunpowder over the last few hours than because of any conscious thought, reached out to pet the black horse's neck. It calmed under his touch but was still huffing and stomping his hooves, so Ichabod reached blindly behind him and felt for a brush. They both calmed at the rhythmic brushing motions when Ichabod started grooming the short hairs on Daredevil's neck and, after a while, without any more thought than what had initially had him start this endeavor, Ichabod reached the plank, dismantling the saddle and putting it to the side carefully and continued his grooming. Daredevil nicked his hair from time to time, and Ichabod changed sides what felt hours later, just continuing the soothing brushing motions. He didn't even realize he had spent half the night with the ghost horse until it started fussing when the first traces of sunlight started coloring the horizon. As soon as he stepped back, Daredevil was fully saddled and coming up to him again. The panic was sluggish in its return and before it could catch up to him, Daredevil snorted and sniffed his hair before taking off, racing the sunrise, probably back to the Tree of the Dead.

Ichabod was left in the horse's wake, confused and suddenly so very tired. He still had a few hours until the coach would arrive to take him back to New York. Maybe he'll finally get some sleep. With those thoughts in his mind, Ichabod returned to his given room in the Van Tassel manor and fell asleep before his head hit the pillow, dreaming of black leather, axes and ice eyes.

00000

He woke up to young Masbet shaking him awake far too early for his liking. Everyone noticed the black circles under his eyes but no one commented when all the remaining villagers gathered to wish him a safe journey and thank him for all that he had done for them, knowing what he must have gone through and how that might affect his sleep. He didn't bother correcting them and instead just promised Katrina and Masbet that he will return for them by the end of the week, to which they replied they would be ready. Katrina had to settle some things as the now most wealthy and influential person in the village, since all of her family, close or extended, were dead and they both had to pack the things they wished to take with them while Ichabod dealt with his business in New York. He had already written his report in as much detail - and truth - as he dared, declaring it had been a revenge plot that Lady Van Tassel had hired an assassin to carry out while relying on local superstitions and legends about a Headless Horseman and witches to cover her tracks. It was far from the truth but Ichabod knew he would be declared crazy and locked up in a mental institution if he tried to tell the _real_ story.

Besides, he feared what would happen if they actually _believed_ him. They would no doubt go back to the Hessian's grave and try to do what Lady Van Tassel had done or, worse yet, destroy the Hessian's remains. He wasn't sure why he was bothered by that beyond the simple moral question of whether a man, no matter what he had done, deserved peace in death, but a traitorous part of his brain insisted it was because he had seen the Hessian as a _human_ the last time he had glimpsed him. Greeting Daredevil as fondly as the supposed monster had had Ichabod feeling like he had intruded on a private moment. He had tried bringing up such a discussion with Katrina and young Masbet, but the White Witch insisted on diverting the conversation entirely until Ichabod got the hint and stopped asking. He had been surprised when young Masbet later informed him that horses and people form a bond of comradeship, loyalty, respect and friendship not unlike a dog and a human do. Masbet didn't go into detail, but the boy had said a bond was created during riding.

Ichabod had taken a few books with him to read during the ride back to New York, which the people of Sleepy Hollow gladly lent him and even offered to give it as a gift. Ichabod had declined, for books were precious, but he still took it to study it. He read about the bonding process between horses and men throughout most of the journey, although his thoughts drifted to what he had almost believed to be a dream last night. For surely he had not engaged in one of the most intimate rituals between man and horse last night with the _Hessian's_ loyal horse, Daredevil. Grooming is a very intimate ritual for horses, because only friends were allowed that privilege and horses made less than only a handful of friends in their life. That's why riders groomed their horses personally. It was said to be a calming exercise for both humans and horses and Ichabod, having experienced it first hand, was inclined to agree. Another thing he learned was how the bond was solidified and trust was built. It all had to do with both human and horse mentality. The regions required to be in close proximity and contact during riding were the most intimate parts on both rider and horse, neater regions and back respectively. It built trust between them both to expose such intimate parts to each other and once that bond was formed, not even death could break it. Which was why people called it a mercy killing when a rider dies and leaves his horse behind. The horse grieves much like a dog or a human would, but dogs can learn to live with other humans, love other humans, while a horse very rarely gets over the death of its rider. So the horse is killed as painlessly as possible and is buried, at the very least its skull is, with its rider so that they may be together in the world beyond as they had been in life.

Ichabod was so lost in his reading and musing about the nightly encounter he had had with Daredevil - and he suddenly missed Gunpowder now that he understood he had made a lifelong friend he had had to leave behind - that he barely noticed when the coach reached the city or when it stopped right in front of his apartment building. He thanked the driver and payed him with a small tip before climbing up the stairs without bothering to talk with his landlady, feeling suddenly all of that exhaustion catch up to him. He had slept part of the way to Sleepy Hollow on his trip there but he had been too caught up in the books to sleep now, so he was extremely tired. Besides, he was sure it would be best to talk with the nice elderly woman in the morning when she won't be too busy fussing over him - she always said he was too skinny and pale and that he should sleep more because he always looked so gaunt and tired - before he talks to to lieutenants and other police officers about his results and findings in Sleepy Hollow.

Only, once morning came and he was finally well rested, he was faced with the grim reality that the landlady had fallen sick in his absence and had died just that very morning, two hours before he had sought her out. Her grieving - and in comparison to her - cruel son had chased Ichabod away when he tries to offer his condolences and threatened to kick him out, so Ichabod had stayed away. However, by now his superiors must have heard Ichabod was back and he couldn't stick around to try and talk to his new landlord about Katrina and Masbet moving in because he would be late and those corrupt cops already had enough distaste for him to make Lady Van Tassel's hate towards him seem trivial. That meeting went not much better than the one with the grieving son. Ichabod was told to wait in front of his superior's office half the day and was then chased off with the accusation of being lazy and a threat of a cut salary. Gritting his teeth, he had went about his usual business, arresting a couple of drunkards that had started a fight in a tavern and going over a few notes from a fellow constable regarding some murder case that he had been assigned recently.

The second day, he had to solve one of his own murder cases, although it was fairly simple in comparison to the web of lies and confusion that was the Sleepy Hollow case. The constable he had helped the day before, one Gregory Coulson, had been happy to lend his assistance since Ichabod's methods had helped solve his case relatively easily and by the third day, they had arrested the murderer.

Day four, however, brought trouble for one constable Ichabod Crane. He was roughly woken up from a strange dream about riding fast as the wind with something secure and strong keeping him steady on the powerful black horse to the sound of loud banging on his door. When he woke up, it was to the two familiar faces of the two constables he had last seen in the prison the night before he was sent to Sleepy Hollow, Anthony Mils and Jonathon Black as well as Gregory. The two constables were more than happy to manhandle him out of his apartment as soon as he was dressed and had grabbed his report, while Gregory shuffled behind them and apologized to Ichabod even as he demanded to know what was the meaning of this and was utterly ignored.

When he later stood in front of his superiors, his report skimmed through and declared invalid, he couldn't help but gape in horror at what he had heard.

"Two new murders, same Modus Operandi, happened in Sleepy Hollow, one the same day you left and one yesterday." They had told him. "It would seem you have failed, Ichabod Crane, and I would so love to be rid of you, but the messenger insists that we send back _you_ to solve this case you have so carelessly left unsolved."

"But the case _is_ solved!" Ichabod protested, still being restrained by Mils and Black. They had never liked him and delighted in getting this chance to cause him any amount of discomfort or pain. "It's all there in my report! This must be someone else, trying to use the same cover as Lady Van Tassel-"

"Silence!" The lieutenant thundered and Ichabod grit his teeth. He had to keep his job if he wants to be able to help the people of Sleepy Hollow. But he couldn't believe what they were saying. The Horseman had no reason to continue killing, no reason to go beheading people again since he had _his_ head back. He had no reason to go collecting heads again, even if he _had_ decided to continue beheading the people of Sleepy Hollow. Something didn't make sense here.

"You will return to Sleepy Hollow, constable Crane, with these fine gentlemen to ... assist you in bringing this felon back here for justice, just as you should have in the first place. If you fail to do so by this time next week, consider yourself jobless and unwelcome to return." That had been the last he heard before he was all but tossed out of the office by his new 'partners' and he grit his teeth. They will probably destroy all the evidence this _actual_ criminal might leave behind and let the week end with no results just to see the last of him.

And as if _that_ wasn't bad enough, he found all of his belongings waiting for him in front of his locked apartment door with a keyhole that did not fit his key. Wonderful. He was homeless and practically jobless, but at least all of his belongings were still his. He sighed, knowing he had no choice but to take it all with him. Thankfully, he was a humble man and did not have too many possessions to haul to Sleepy Hollow. The trip there was even more tedious in his new company than it had been the first time around. At least he could chat with Gregory, but the other two too often sneered at him and interrupted his stories about Sleepy Hollow and its residence for it to be an enjoyable conversation.

He never thought he'd be so glad to see the haunted like mist and the heavy feeling of the Hollow's atmosphere as when he realized that he was perfectly at home in such an environment while his companions had all gone stiff with fear. He tried not to be too smug about it, but judging from the dirty looks Mils and Black were giving him, he guessed he wasn't as successful as he had hoped. Oh well. Not his problem if they were scared of the _aftermath_ of what _he_ had been through not a whole week ago. It was nice being the brave one, for a change.

It was even nicer to be welcomed back as a hero by the villagers while the rest of his companions were overlooked like a necessary evil. He noted almost immediately that the village had gained much of its original folk back and that they weren't nearly as frightened this time around as they had been the last time he was called here. Katrina gave him back his room and housed the other three constables as well, Gregory being the only one she seemed to like while young Masbet seemed to have a distaste for them all. He pointedly stayed close to Ichabod and slept in the room next to his, as if declaring to them he won't be listening to anything they might say. And since it was still only noon, Katrina shooed Ichabod and Masbet away while she entertained her new guests so Ichabod could actually get some time alone to see what was going on. He loved them both for understanding immediately what he will need if they want him to solve this case.

"Take me to the bodies," was the first thing he said as soon as they were a good ten meters away from the house. "What do you know so far?"

"It's not the Hessian." Masbet said immediately and relief spread through Ichabod. "Or at least I don't think it is and anyone who had been around when you checked over the bodies before is sure of that, too. They said there was a lot more blood but that's the only thing they said they knew. As for me, I think the cut isn't clean enough." Which would be a definite that it wasn't the Hessian. The sword he wielded was wicked sharp, his hand was strong and precise and he wasn't messy at all. "But the wounds are still cauterized and there were horse tracks, but no one is sure to say it's the Hessian."

That had Ichabod asking where the body was found so he could scour the ground for any clues. They still first went to see the bodies and Ichabod grimaced as he put his gear on so he can take a closer look. "You are right to think it is not the Horseman." He said after just a few minutes of looking over the bodies. "The wound was not instantly cauterized, some blood was lost before that." He explained, inspecting the torn tissue, muscle and skin of where the neck should have been. "Which is not the case with the Horseman's beheadings. And good eye, young Masbet." He praised. "Not only was this not a clean cut, but there are signs of a struggle. Save for Brunt Van Tassel himself, whose unfortunate demise happened in a rather different set of circumstances, the Horseman never let anyone struggle and even then the cut had been clean. The Horseman is way too precise, even on horseback and in full gallop, for this sloppy a work."

"Maybe he regained some of his humanity when he got his head back?" One of the observers suggested but Ichabod rather doubted it. He pursed his lips.

"Can you take me to at least one of the sits where the body was found?" And they did. He found that the ground had already been pretty much disturbed on one of the sites, since it had happened on the main road. The coach he had come in had probably passed right over it, so the location was useless. The second, though, sent shivers of dread through him, as it had happened on the road towards the Western Woods. He can see now why they still wanted _him_ to come take a look. The Western Woods were not a place even the most fearless of men dared go into lightly. The location was undisturbed and Ichabod easily found the hooves prints he had been hoping for. "This is not the Hessian," he said confidently as soon as he examined the prints.

"How can you be so sure?" One of the newer faces in the village asked, curious.

"For one, the chase has lasted far too long. The Hessian's horse is one of the fastest I've ever seen and it's a ghost, so I imagine it doesn't get tired." He replied immediately. "For another, I've _seen_ Daredevil's stride in full gallop before and the size of his hooves. Believe me when I say, even when walking calmly by, Daredevil's stride is longer."

"It _is_ an enormous horse," young Masbet said in way of supporting his claim.

"And the hooves are bigger than this," he pointed to the medium sized prints inlaid in the ground. "Horse's are."

"So we're dealing with an imposter, right?" Masbet asked curiously, more to confirm what he had already thought than to ask a question. The other few brave villagers that had ventured out with them listened carefully, needing the reassurance that the demon they so feared was not back.

"So it would seem, young master Masbet. Someone is trying to use the recent turn of events to drive fear into the villagers. I'm not sure yet why but I guess we shall have to find out." That, at least, put the villagers to rest and they thanked Ichabod for returning so swiftly and for helping them again. Now that the bodies have been examined, the funeral was set for first thing in the morning, a new reverend having arrived into town the day after Ichabod left. The man didn't seem to like him at all, probably because how against he was to Ichabod prodding at dead bodies that should have already been buried in sacred ground of the church's cemetery.

Ichabod and his young companion returned to the Van Tassel home with news that it was not the same culprit as before, to which Katrina sighed in relief while Black and Mils just sneered at him. Gregory advised him not to go off on his own, supposedly for fear of not having anyone to watch his back or for whatever retaliation the other two constables might deliver upon him. But Ichabod cared very little for what any three of them thought. He had greater worries again, and they were once again centered around the Horseman. There was someone out there sullying the Hessian's reputation and name - not that anyone seemed to _know_ his name, but that was beside the point - and seeing as how he had retaliated against the humiliation of being controlled by a mortal witch, the ghost might decide soon enough to take some form of revenge again whoever was insulting him like this and it might later extend to the village again. Or perhaps the retaliation will cause retaliation, the villagers going after the Horseman's grave during the day when he cannot ride. His thoughts preoccupied him through dinner that he didn't even notice when the witching hour descended upon them. He advised Katrina, when the thought occurred to him, not to practice her trade while his unwanted colleges were there and she agreed, kissing his cheek in good night and thank you before they parted.

Strangely enough, he didn't feel as charmed by it as he had before.

"There's something else," was the greeting he got from young Masbet when he entered his room. The boy had prepared his bed and some sleeping clothes for him and was waiting for him to return. This was actually the only place they could find privacy in now that there were other constables staying in the same house as them. Masbet looked weary and worried, sending scared glances towards the window behind Ichabod ever few seconds, as though expecting something to spear through it and Ichabod any second now, like when the Horseman had come for Van Tassel at the church. "It's been happening every night since you left. I don't know how many people know about it, but it's mostly why no one fled the town again. It's why we were already pretty sure it wasn't the Hessian even before you confirmed it, sir."

"What is it?" Crane asked curiously as he took off his coat and handed it to the boy.

Before the boy could answer, a familiar neighing sound caught both of their attention and Masbet paled. Ichabod was not far off. Except that he had been face to face with the beast before and he had lived. They both reluctantly moved to the window and sure enough, there he was, stomping his feet impatiently. Daredevil. And, once again, sans his rider.

"It's been coming since the night you left." Masbet explained. "Stands there all night, usually a lot more silent than it is now. Lady Katrina and I figured it was waiting for _you_ but we don't know why. Lady Katrina thinks it might have to do with you being the one who returned the Horseman his head but we can't be sure. It's not caused any damage or harm and it usually tries not to disturb anyone. Why do you think it's here, sir?"

"I fear it might have something to do with the Hessian." And didn't that just spread dread through them both. "Has he shown up at any point?"

"Still as dead as he should be, sir."

"That was the problem, last time." He reminded with a sigh. "Did anyone go to the Tree of the Dead? Maybe someone messed with his bones or something and he's sending his horse as a warning?"

"No one knows where the Tree of the Dead is, but us, sir. Not even Lady Katrina and I could find it, and we _did_ try, after the horse kept showing up every night." Down below, Daredevil was huffing and stomping his hooves, impatient.

That was odd. If anyone, young Masbet should have been able to find it, since he had been the first one to detect it the first time around. "Maybe someone else stumbled upon it." It was not a possibility Ichabod liked to contemplate, as the Hessian, if anyone takes his head, was a powerful weapon. Even if he could only travel one night, he could do quite a bit of damage. "But what would they want from me?" Maybe to once again return the head, if it had been removed?

"Maybe they expect for you to get back the head like last time?" It was eery how similar Masbet's suggestion was to Ichabod's own train of thought. "Like we expected you to solve the murders?"

"I don't think this is at all connected, young master Masbet." There was no thread _to_ connect them, except that someone was playing Headless Horsemen and the real deal was possibly getting pissed off. He suggested as much to Masbet, who frowned in thought.

"But why not come back himself, then?"

"It is possible," it occurred to him with a sheepish reminder of his own actions. "That the Hessian is guarding his grave. I _have_ kind of left it open. He's probably trying to make sure no one can get to his bones again. If he can't do it during the day, it makes sense that he at least wants to guard his remains at night, when he is the most powerful being in these woods."

"I guess that makes sense." Masbet agreed, before peering down at the impatient horse. "What should we do?"

"I'll go try and calm him down," he started with a sigh, only to be interrupted by Masbet's shocked and alarmed noise. Ichabod smiled and patted the boy on the head. "Relax. He's visited me once already, the night before I left. He's not done me harm back then. Although I don't suggest you come with me. I don't even know why he tolerates me, another mortal might be pushing it." Although that wasn't very true, not anymore, not completely. He had a theory but he didn't know how likely or valid it was. He was still skeptical that one ride would be enough to form such a bond but he guessed there was no other choice if they wanted to keep as quiet about Daredevil's visits as they could.

Which is how he found himself approaching the waiting ghostly horse well past midnight with a brush in his hand and Masbet watching worriedly from the window of his room. Daredevil neighed happily upon seeing him, pleased, and he walked closer to Ichabod to nip at his hair in reprimand for making the horse wait. Ichabod halfheartedly protested before he started grooming the horse. He felt oddly compelled to chew out the Horseman for not taking better care of his horse. Daredevil's mane was all tangled up and the perfectionist in Ichabod demanded he set it right. The horse seemed content to let the human groom it, although neither made a move to remove the saddle this time around. When Daredevil deemed it enough of grooming, he started pushing at Ichabod with his massive head, closer to his saddle, not bothering to wait. Ichabod stared at the stallion, confused, which only seemed to annoy and exasperate the strangely expressive and intelligent animal.

"I think it wants you to get on, sir," Masbet dared to call from the window, startling when Daredevil looked dangerously up at him, as if in warning. He closed the window with a yelp and only peered from the side of the frame. Ichabod, had he not been such a coward at heart, would have scuffed but he knew that would have been his normal default reaction, too, had he not already interacted with Daredevil before. But getting on the horse and ridding it? Not gonna happen. He still had bruises from the last time. Ichabod was not born to ride a horse, no matter how much he tried.

"Alright." He muttered to himself. "You can do this, Ichabod. Just like mounting Gunpowder." Only Gunpowder was shorter, smaller and didn't have quite the same rippling muscles that Daredevil had. Also she was a lot more mellow and a lot less temperamental than Daredevil was proving himself to be. Just as he was about to get on, a light was lit in one of the rooms that Ichabod was sure was given to his fellow constables. He wasn't sure why but he panicked and Daredevil must have felt it, because he huffed and moved as if to become a barrier between Ichabod and the new light. Only Crane wasn't having any of that. "No! You must go!" He hissed at the ghost horse. "They can't see you! Run!" When the horse made no move to follow his orders - please, more like - he switched tactics. "If they catch you here, they will make me go away and never return. Then I can't help you with whatever it is that has you returning here."

That, at least, had the desired effect and Daredevil, after giving the lit up window a stink eye, galloped away with nary a sound. Ichabod, though, had to rush into the house, only to realize that someone was coming down and he won't be able to go upstairs without someone seeing him. Instead, he dove for the sitting room, pulling out one of Katrina's books - romance really wasn't his preferred reading material but it will do for now - and lit up the smallest of candles that was around and placed it in his lap, obscuring most of the light from view. Moments later, a disgruntled looking Mils entered the room and shot him a suspicious look.

"What are you doing here?"

"Reading. I found I couldn't fall asleep." He countered easily, never looking up from the book, skimming the text to better pretend he was reading. He nearly grimaced at some of the lines but kept his face neutral. "Care to join me?"

The older constable snorted. "I don't want to poison my brain with that gibberish. And I'm not a wuss like you to not be able to sleep just because I saw a couple of corpses and heard a scary story. Just be ready to set out early tomorrow morning. We're going into the Western Woods."

That had Crane's head snapping up faster than was safe for his neck. "What? Why?" Why now, when Ichabod was trying to figure out how to ditch the other constables so he can try to find the Hessian's grave and bury him again.

"Because that's where the folks say the last murderer always returned. We're going to try and find his hiding place. One of the new old hags in the village said she might even be able to help tracking him down. We're going to find him, ask him some questions and make sure he ... faces justice." The last was said with a confident smirk Ichabod knew would disappear as soon as the Hessian came into view. If he didn't manage to prevent this ill fated meeting, that is. "After that, we'll go back and you can try to keep your job, although I assure you, you _will_ fail. The commissioner is well and truly sick of you. Better start looking for a job among these freaks. It would seem this is where you belong." He left with a malicious chuckle that had Ichabod chilled to the bone. He had a bad feeling about all of this, but he knew he couldn't fight it. Hopefully, the old woman wouldn't know anything useful.

00000

"Interesting. How very," an old, raspy voice all but purred next to Ichabod's ear as he, the other three constables and young Masbet sat in said old woman's new home she had bought from one of the families that refused to return to the Hollow. " _Interesting_." Mrs Hawkins, as she had introduced herself, cackled like a dramatic witch and Ichabod winced, since he _knew_ she was a witch even before he entered her house and saw one of the subtle, almost hidden protection diagrams carved into the far wall of her sitting room. The old lady looked as unassuming as Katrina or late Lady Van Tassel or even how his own mother had looked, but she definitely had something about her that screamed _magic_. He wouldn't have noticed the way his hairs stood on end just a month ago, but he was now so attuned and used to magic that he could tell it was in the air almost as soon as he entered the little house.

What's worse, it didn't have the same feeling as Katrina's or the now dead Old Crone's magic. It didn't feel like Lady Van Tassel's, either, but more like a mix of the two and he didn't like the implication that he was sitting so close to a woman who practiced black magic.

"So very _interesting_ ," he also didn't like the way she was repeating that and leering at him in that way. "So _you_ are the one whose call he would answer? _Lucky_ boy! What favors must you have earned!" And he liked that even less.

"I beg your pardon?"

"So very _interesting_. The black rider does not answer the call of any. His revenge is complete, he has what he wants, and yet something in you _calls_ to him like a beacon of light to a moth." She leaned into his face and Ichabod jerked back, exchanging a quick wary glance with a wide eyed Masbet. "What does a caged little bird like you have to offer someone like _him_ , who is now beyond both life and death? Heaven, nor hell nor purgatory can touch him now and yet _you_ can. And you don't even know what you can do with that power. The magic you were born into is wasted on you, Ichabod Crane. Such a shame that the night rider will never win your favor. Or has he already and shall you bring him peace or deliver him to madness?"

"We don't have the time for your nonsense, old hag," Black said with a snide look at Ichabod and a sneer at the short old woman leaning too close into his personal space for the young constable's liking. "We promise you can harass him later if you just tell us how to find this man's hideout or whatever it is."

"Harass him? Goddess, no!" The way she laughed sent chills down Ichabod's spine. "The last who dared do so ended in a very unfavorable way. I would rather not tempt fate." She answered with another considering look at Ichabod. She looked ready to say another 'interesting' but she refrained and nodded at the three other constables. "Just follow the road through the Western Woods and don't stray from it. I know of a big, run down cabin there that had been used by soldiers and hunters during the war in winter times. I can't guarantee if the killer is there, but it's as good a place as any to conduct the beginning of your search."

Ichabod and Masbet almost slumped in relief but became tense again when the old woman winked at the pale, dark haired constable. The two of them were all too happy to scurry away, but the old hag called out to Ichabod when all others left her house. Reluctantly, he came to stand in front of her, yelping when she thrust something at his chest. Looking down at it, he saw what looked like a pin for a cape or a cloak. It looked old and a bit rusty but he wasn't sure where she could have gotten it until he recognized the sigil on the pin from a picture in the history books he'd studied in Sleepy Hollow. The sigil of the Hessian order from twenty years ago. He looked at her wide eyed but she only chuckled with a wink.

"He will always answer for _you_ ," was all she said before returning to her house and just ignoring the look Ichabod was throwing at her back. Masbet came to stand with him and looked curiously but without recognition at the pin in his hand.

"Do you think it's safe to go into the woods, sir?"

Ichabod put aside the pin into one of his coat's breast pockets and filed away his questions as to _how_ the old woman had gotten her hands on it in the first place for later questioning. "Most assuredly not, young Mabet, but it would seem that we do not have a choice in the matter."

Which they didn't. They walked in the woods until dusk before Mils, the temporary chief officer, decided they should head back. They hadn't come across either the Indian Trail, the Old Crones cave or any huts or cottages, but Black had simply suggested they grab horses the next day so they could travel faster and deeper into the woods. However, come morning, they had another body on their hands.

"Cauterization was immediate, but there are signs of bruising, meaning the blade was at least close to scalding hot, which would take away some of the edge. Obvious signs of struggle and footprints, no hooves prints." Ichabod summarized when he finished his investigation of the crime scene, Gregory watching him the whole while with interest. "The perpetrator had gotten off of his hours and pursued by foot. Hooves prints on a different trail. Different horse. Different perpetrator."

"What makes you think that?" Gregory asked curiously, peering at the beheaded body with an utter lack of expression that set alarm bells in Ichabod's head. Or would have, had they not been ringing since he'd stepped onto the crime scene. Someone was playing foul, that much was clear, but the longer this went on, the more likely it was that they _will_ gather the attention of the first head chopping warrior in the area. He'd rather not face the Horseman again, not after dreaming of sitting under the shade of the Tree of the Dead last night.

"The wound. The first two victims were definitely killed by the same person, most undoubtedly male, done by one hand, on horseback. That person had to have more strength in their arms to wield a weapon with one hand, a long sword, if I had to guess. This? This was done by two hands using an ax. Indicating lesser upper body strength than the first perpetrator, meaning there were two. It would be easy to just brush off the hooves prints like someone changing a horse to cover their tracks, but this is different." What he didn't bother to tell Gregory was that whoever had done this supposedly immediate cauterization had been trying to replicate what Ichabod had had to share about the Hessian's attacks, which meant it was someone in the village or whoever was doing this _had_ someone in the village as a snitch. "Why did no one bother to tell me this man has been robbed?"

That gave the other men who had followed the constables - Ichabod, really - to the investigation of the crime scene and they all looked uncertainly at each other. "Robbed?" One of the asked hesitantly and Crane nodded, eying them with his suspicious stare that he knew would make one of the confess if they had touched the body, although he knew they hadn't. The people of Sleepy Hollow had learned early on to listen to what he told them to do regarding any new found bodies. They knew better than to touch or disturb them lest any evidence be lost. In that regard, they were smarter than anyone Ichabod worked with in New York.

"What are you blabbering about, Crane? This man looks like he doesn't own a penny to his name." Black grumbled, sneering at Ichabod, who only arched an eyebrow at him.

"There are footprints all around the body and the beginning of the initial wound is at the _back_ of the neck. Meaning, they person has been ambushed from behind, their head chopped messily halfway off and then they were turned over and their belongings were stripped away. I don't know what he had on him, if anything, but this was done with the intent of _taking_ something."

"You said there were signs of obvious struggle." Mils pointed out. "Dead men don't struggle."

"I _did_ say that it was a messy, unfinished job. This man's head was cut off as though he were a tree: from two sides. A deeper and a shallower thrust of an ax." He explained patiently. "Whoever did this beheaded this man more as an afterthought than because he had set out to do so in the first place. Once more proof that this _isn't_ the same killer as the one from my first visit to Sleepy Hollow. These three killings were the work of robbers and bandits trying to cover up their tracks by using the same Modus Operandi as the previous criminal in these woods and relying on ... superstition to keep them safe and in business. I'd say we're probably looking at a group of, possibly, more than three men, up to six or seven."

"How can you tell?" Gregory asked again, a wary sort of interest in his voice that Ichabod didn't really notice, mind already turning over all possibilities about this new case. But Masbet did and it made the boy clench his hands into fists, just itching to pick up the gun he had slung over his shoulder so he can keep aim on the supposedly friendly constable. There was something off about that man and Ichabod was becoming too stressed and too distracted with two completely unrelated matters to notice so Masbet was noticing for him.

"From the choice of targets and location. If they were a bigger group, they'd have attacked the village or would be attacking on a different, more frequented road. Here, they can get just the right amount of targets and still make it look like a legend did it, putting people further off of their trail or making them fear entering the woods unless absolutely necessary, which lessens the possibility of their hideout being found."

"Sounds reasonable." Black actually agreed, much to Ichabod's shock. "But this just means we need to find their hideout even more. And need backup."

"No one from Sleepy Hollow is suicidal enough to go into the Western Woods." One of the men that had followed them commented hurriedly, the others nodding and taking several steps back to reinforce the decision with the increased distance. Ichabod nearly rolled his eyes. He had had just as much support the first time around and that was when the _Horseman_ had been lurking about. "You're on your own."

"I'll go." Masbet offered but it was directed at Ichabod, who nodded gravely at his young friend and helper. They will probably have to break off from the others and try to find the Indian Trail and follow it to the Hessian's grave again. Daredevil had waited for Ichabod again last night, but had not been beckoning, just waiting. It would seem that it was now Ichabod's turn to make a move. He had his invitation but his 'conversation' with old Mrs Hawkins had him hesitating, even though he carried the pin on his breast now. Katrina had taken one look at it and went pale as a sheet, but she made no comment. The glare she had thrown at the new witch in town had Ichabod thinking they had had a talk this morning before he had come to the crime scene. Not that he was interested in what was going on between witches. He'd rather never find out how they asserted their dominance over some patch of territory or something.

"Great." Black commented sarcastically but didn't turn him away. Mils just nodded.

"Good. We're going right now. Pack up some food and a coat for the night. We won't be coming back to the village until we find that house."

Masbet and Ichabod exchanged uneasy glances but knew they could do nothing more than prepare.

00000

They actually set off much later than noon, as had been the original plan, due to Gregory not feeling so good and having to stop by the new local doctor. Mils had insisted they meet in two hours, but those two hours turned into four and the sun was already making its way towards the Western Woods when they set off. The forest all around them was eerily silent and still, not a bird or any smaller animal making a single sound, as though they had all fled somewhere before disaster struck. It set a tense atmosphere among the five males riding on horseback down what could be described as the main road, if the Western Woods even really had one of those.

"Something ... is not right here." Mils commented, looking warily left and right and ahead and sometimes even behind himself, as though searching for a threat that was not yet there. "It's as though every living thing has scattered in fear. There's no birds, no animal trails, nothing."

"Like this place is _haunted_ ," Gregory agreed with a shudder and Ichabod nearly snorted. Of course it was haunted. Of _course_ no animal would venture into the Western Woods. No matter what predator or how proud it might be by nature, they wouldn't come here because they _knew_ that there was a greater predator lurking in these woods. Whether the Horseman rides again or not, he commands and rules these woods. They are his and no beast with survival instincts would dare challenge his claim in any way. Judging from the look on young Masbet's face, he understood that, too.

They rode for hours and Crane let his mind wander. There were a great many things that he had to think about, starting with and always returning to, of course, the previously Headless Horseman. The Hessian was a topic that would not leave Ichabod's mind ever since their first chance encounter, when he had thought he will die. Sometimes, it was the not so pleasant thoughts of how that was a ghost and a demon that needed to be returned to hell, while other times he had pondered at the life led by a warrior so fearsome not even hell or purgatory could hold. For, obviously, the Horseman rode again, even without the influence of Lady Van Tassel's magic. Or, well, he was at least still on earth if not quite riding. Though Ichabod still retains his idea that the Horseman was only guarding his remains. This was, perhaps, Ichabod's only opportunity to find out if that was true, if _that_ was the reason behind Daredevil's continued visits. It was definitely worth thinking about, _especially_ since all these murders were being piled onto the Hessian's name and it was possibly only a matter of time before the ghost took offense and decided to put the fear of death into them all.

Mrs Hawkins' words were also something to think and be wary about. She seemed to have had _some_ interest in the Horseman and had _tried_ to make him rise from his grave for her, but had failed. What brought her to think that _Ichabod_ might be able to do better was a puzzle he wondered whether he should solve at all. She had mentioned some 'magic he was born into' and about it being wasted on him, which he guessed had something to do with his mother but Ichabod was not magical in any way. He didn't even _like_ magic! He was a man of science and logic and reason, not witchcraft, although he knew he could no longer deny the existence of the mystical and the arcane around him. That would be foolish and stupid and Ichabod Crane prided himself on being neither. However, _that_ only served to make him weary of going to the Horseman even though he _knew_ he had to. Chances were, the Hessian will get tired of patiently waiting for him to arrive and just kidnap him to make a point. He really didn't need that.

Another thing relating to magic, the Horseman (of course) and these recent events that gave him pause was Katrina. It was as though she had lost romantic interest in him overnight. And he wasn't sure if it had anything to do with him not telling him anything regarding his new wishes to go to the Tree of the Dead and him having what was obviously a pin that represented the order of Hessians. All he knew was that Katrina had decided to distance herself from him, even though she was still friendly. But, then again, he hadn't exactly put in much effort, either. And what was there to put effort into, anyway? He had known Katrina, what? A month at most? And before she had burned the will, how many times had they talked to each other? Before the Hessian had nearly taken him out along with Brom. Had it been mere a spur of the moment kind of thing? It didn't sound like Ichabod, but he guessed he had been a bit charmed by Katrina and her almost childlike innocence. The thought of protecting her had been a bit of a rush, making him feel rather important, a first in his life since his mother's death, but he guessed that was it. Maybe had they followed through with the original plan, he would have learned to love her, but it had been brought into stark relief just how superficial his fancy was at the moment. Hers, too, as it would appear she was only eager to get out of Sleepy Hollow at this point.

Ichabod sigh as he realized the hours had gone by and he had been too lost in thought to look out for the Indian Trail. Young Masbet had not alerted him of it, either, so he guessed they had not passed it yet. The sun was already setting when they finally stumbled upon the cottage Mrs Hawkins was talking about and suddenly, all the hairs on Ichabod's neck stood on end. Something wasn't right here. Something bad was going to happen and Ichabod had a feeling it will be somehow related to the little wooden structure before them. He exchanged a look with Masbet and jerked his head in a rather telling way and the boy only nodded, falling behind as the four constables continued up to the cottage.

"I don't think this is a good idea," he said to his collages, but Mils and Black only snorted at him and Gregory didn't even look back at him, which only made him more suspicious. Something was definitely up and it had Ichabod reached for his pistol just as he heard the telltale sign of the cocking of a gun.

"There, there, little birdie." Drawled a voice from behind them and all four constables came to a stop when five men stepped out of the surrounding forest and the cabin, looking at them with leering expressions down the barrels of hunting guns and loaded pistols. "That's not nice. Put that dangerous gun away and we won't feel so inclined to put holes into you." Ichabod dropped the pistol reluctantly, acknowledging that he was outnumbered even with his fellow constables. "Good. Now, all of you, drop your weapons and get off the horses." Crane, Mils and Black did as they were told but Coulson remained on the horse borrowed to him by the villagers.

"What are you doing? Get down or they'll kill us all!" Black hissed at the still riding man but Gregory surprised them by chuckling. It soon turned into full blown laughter that sent chills down Ichabod's spine, as it reminded him an awful lot of Lady Van Tassel's cackles that night they fought her at the windmill and at the Tree of the Dead.

When he calmed down, Gregory turned around to face them with malicious glee. "Oh, you poor, poor misguided sods." He sneered at them, face an ugly grimace. He suddenly looked so much different to the constable Ichabod had told stories about the Hollow to just a couple of days ago. "They'll kill the lot of _you_ because you're the good constables of the law. They won't kill _me_. I'm one of _them_." At their shocked expressions, he only chuckled. "I've been covering their tracks from the New York Police Department for the past five years. These are hardly the first murders in this area, if not Sleepy Hollow itself. We always changed our Modus Operandi and sent different lads to do different jobs to throw anyone off of our trail. The Sleepy Hollow case was the next best thing in a while now, a perfect cover, but you, Ichabod, you just _had_ to be so good at your damned job." The glare sent his way also reminded him of Katrina's late stepmother and wasn't _that_ an unpleasant thought. He was unarmed and Gunpowder had already been taken away from him, not that he was that agile to get on horseback fast enough and unscathed. "I knew we could convince Mr Black and Mr Mils to see things our way for a small percentage of our loot." The two above mentioned men, petrified, nodded their assent like the cowards that they were, which ultimately left Ichabod on his own. "But you, Crane ... We all know that's not possible. So we'll be making you the next victim of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. Don't worry, we'll make sure everyone knows how valiantly you've fought."

Within a blink, Ichabod found himself staring at the barrel of a loaded and cocked gun, the blackness of it a louder threat than the bang ever could be. "Goodbye, Ichabod Crane." There was the snap of a branch being broken and Ichabod had never been so grateful for young Masbet, even as he heard the boy take off back towards the village. He knew he would make it, so he wasn't worried. However, _he,_ on the other hand, was very much in danger so he started into a sprint before his would be captors could blink, taking off into the woods as fast as his long legs could take him. "After him! Don't let him escape!" The sounds of pursuit soon followed, most telltale sound being the neighing of horses and hooves thundering on the ground, breaking branches and complaining when they were roughly maneuvered around the thickly growing trees of the Western Woods.

He ran rather mindlessly through the woods, not caring how obvious his tracks were - they were too close for him to hide, anyway and he couldn't afford to slow down to be careful - and instead focusing on speed and putting as much distance between himself and his pursuers. He ran for what felt like hours, lungs straining under the labor of his sprint, but he knew it couldn't have been more than twenty minutes when Black and Mils came down on him, knocking him to the ground. Ichabod used their weight and momentum against them to somehow manage to wring himself out of their grip, only to fall down with a cry, his ankle throbbing with insufferable pain. He had either broken or sprang it and neither was good news. Especially as his two should-be collages were now on their feet and pointing guns at him with no remorse or pity in their eyes.

"I wish I could say I was sorry," Anthony said in a deadpan voice, uncaring. "But I'm really not."

"Too bad no one will be able to tell the original cause of your death, Crane." Jonathon said with a sardonic smirk, implying his head will take the bullet and his head will never be found. "Not that anyone would care."

"Goodbye, Crane." Once again staring down the barrel of a gun, Ichabod was saved by a sound to the side. Only this sound made his heart skip a beat and the hoovebeats and the neighing was followed by Daredevil ramming into the two corrupt cops, crushing their bodies under his hooves as he stomped all over them. Ichabod had never before been so grateful to see a ghost as he was now. He had never been so grateful for it to be night in the creepy Western Woods, either, but there was apparently a first time for everything.

Daredevil came carefully up to Ichabod, sniffing his hair and huffing at the swollen ankle in displeasure. It grabbed hold of Ichabod's shirt and hauled him to his feet, careful not to topple him onto his injured foot and the constable patted his neck in thanks. When the black horse sat down almost the whole way and nudged him gently towards his flank, Ichabod knew what he wanted and didn't resist, bearing the pain of putting any weight on his ankle as best as he could. He could ride properly, but that didn't deter Daredevil as the horse easily climbed to its feet and took off just as he heard the bandits entering the little clearing that the now dead ex constables had attacked him in. Daredevil ran like the wind and Ichabod was almost lying on the horse, face buried in the soft mane that he had only recently brushed out and he didn't dare look up for fear of bullets ripping into his body. The ghostly horse, a war horse before its death, was not in any way disturbed by the gunfire, though it did snort its displeasure every now and then.

Ichabod had, somehow, ended up rather close to the Indian Trail when he had fled from the others and they soon were thundering down the earthly road with six criminals, one of which was a corrupt constable, in hot pursuit. His ankle was really hurting by this point and Ichabod hoped he won't pass out from the pain. No matter how much he could try, Daredevil won't be able to keep him on his back if Ichabod lost consciousness. He knew they weren't heading towards Sleepy Hollow and that, for some reason filled him with both relief and dread. Dread, because he won't have any human backup but relief because he will finally - _finally_ \- go to the Tree of the Dead. And if he was suddenly hoping that what old Mrs Hawkins had said was true, that was his business. It was just a means of survival, or so he will tell any who question his crazy decision later.

Just when the Tree of the Dead came into clear view through the trees and Ichabod felt relief at reaching a safe point - why he though that, he will never be able to understand himself, let alone explain to another - a shot rang out through the air and the good constable felt a momentarily nearly crippling pain in his shoulder. A cry tore itself out of Ichabod's throat and he crashed onto the forest floor just meters away from the Tree, no longer able to hold on. He whimpered in pain when both his shoulder and his ankle were jostled with the fall and he felt suddenly dizzy. A concussion, he realized distantly, barely aware of the sound of hooves thundering into the clearing although he did register that Daredevil stood protectively in front of him. As the world swam in front of his eyes, though, his ears registered with scary clarity the ringing of a sword being drawn from a scabbard. It was soon followed by crunching leaves that circled a little around him and the black horse, accompanied by a battle cry and horrified screams echoed by frantic gun shots.

For reasons unknown, that was Ichabod Crane's lullaby and he found himself drifting off into sweet oblivion.

00000

Waking up was not a pleasant sensation to Ichabod. His head hurt, his shoulder hurt and his ankle he didn't even want to think about with how much pain it was causing him at the moment. He sighed, resigning himself to several days at the very least of bed rest and he tried to remember how he had gotten back into the familiar bed he was lying in. He was obviously in his attic room in the Van Tassel manor, if the ceiling and the window were anything to go by. But there was no Katrina watching over him like the last time, although young Masbet slept soundly in a hastily made up cot in the back of the room. He guessed that was it then, for his and Katrina's short term romance, if it can even really be called that at all. Besides, they were ultimately too different to work out. Katrina was content to live in the boundaries she was used to in this little village, even though she does not seem to realize it yet. She would have loved _visiting_ New York but perhaps not necessarily living in the city. The separation from the forest alone will be a hard hit to her, as she won't have what she might need to conduct her witchcraft practices.

Honestly, though, Ichabod felt no desire to return to New York either. The level of corruption he had had to face was not something he would like to go through again, thank you very much. He wasn't wanted there, anyway, and he didn't even have a home to return to. Maybe he really _was_ better off here in Sleepy Hollow. People here at the very least respected him, even if they still thought him strange at times. Maybe he could become a local policeman and train a few lads in keeping the law? Or become a teacher. That sounded nice. He always did prefer books over guns and blood, but what had happened to his mother had led him down a road that helped his seek justice for those who are wronged. New York had more than enough teachers already, not that many people paid them any heed. Sleepy Hollow would benefit from it, at least, and the people here liked him, so he guessed he'd turn in one last report before quitting his job and moving here, where he was actually _wanted_.

He looked over towards the door when he heard it crack open and was both surprised and not at all when he saw old Mrs Hawkins walk in with a warm beverage that smelled like tea. The hairs on the back of his neck half rose in alarm, but for some reason, he no longer felt dread or fear. He guessed that might have something to do with how distracted he was by the soreness of his body, but he knew there was more to it than that. For once in his life, Ichabod didn't feel the need to analyze and understand something so he just let it lie and accepted to offered cup of tea with his good arm.

"I see that you are doing better, young man," the old hag said in her raspy voice, a smile curling on her wrinkled face. "Good. You had us a little worried and plenty frightened. The folk nearly fled town again."

"What?" The confused constable paused in his drinking and looked at the old witch curiously. "Why?" The confusion was chased away by something half like realization before a frown settled over the pale features. "How did I get back? I was at the Tree of the Dead and those who _had_ been there can no longer find it. So how am I here and not dying in the Western Woods?"

Mrs Hawking let out a surprisingly girlish giggle that she hid behind her hand, making the image all the more ridiculous. Her words, though, more than made up for it in flooring Ichabod.

"Why, the Hessian brought you back! Scared the ever living daylights out of us all, me especially, since he had made it explicitly clear that no harm or danger is to come upon you." The old lady lost all her humor with a shudder. "I thought he was coming back to kill me, since he had already once let me get away with offending and displeasing him with only a warning and a promise to lead you to him, little lord. Seeing you bleeding out in his arms as he impatiently called for healers had been almost as horrifying. Especially since he had continued coming here every night since to check on your progress-"

"Every night since?" Parroted Ichabod, trying not to think about the 'little lord' part and what the Hessian might want from him. He didn't feel up to those discussions quite yet. "Just how long was I unconscious?"

"Four days and five nights, little lord."

"Goodness," the man muttered, running a now shaking hand through his hair. "And you took care of my wounds?"

"With help from Lady Katrina and that new doctor." Mrs Hawkins replied with a nod. "Poor man. He was shaking all over while we were tending to your wounds. To be expected, seeing as the Hessian refused to leave your side until he saw that we are finished. Lady Katrina didn't allow him to enter the Van Tassel property, though, so he was agitated and snarling things in German at us the whole time, so it put even more fear into the villagers. But since there were no more murders and the perpetrators were dragged into the village by him on the second night, people just decided to go to their homes early and not interact with him in any way. He'll be pleased to see that you are getting better, little lord."

"Why do you call me that?" Ichabod finally asked, figuring it would be best if he knew and was ready for when he will undoubtedly meet the Hessian face to face. It was inevitable, it would seem, so it would be best to know as much as he can before he goes to the Horseman.

"It is what the Hessian calls you." The old woman said in a matter of fact sort of tone to her voice and words.

"But why?"

"Because you freed him and he had to repay that debt."

"He saved me, so the debt has been repaid." Ichabod nodded. He can live with that. Maybe the Horseman will stop ridding now that he had no more reason to ride. Although, Ichabod had to admit he will miss knowing the Horseman ran through these woods - for whatever reason - and he will miss his nightly visits with Daredevil. He could barely recall the sense memory of leather clad fingers brushing hair from his face and a hard, safe body cradling him as wind blew in his face. Maybe the pair of ghosts weren't _all_ bad. That had kind of become obvious with how tenderly the Hessian treated Daredevil and with how fussy said horse could be with Ichabod and how loyal it was to its master.

"Perhaps, but he still sees you as his little lord." That gave Crane pause and he cocked an eyebrow at the old lady, silently asking for clarification. She just chuckled at his obliviousness and naivety. "He has grown somewhat fond of you, boy. You have earned his respect and his loyalty. I will take a wild guess it had much to do with you returning to him his skull instead of taking all the power it would have afforded you for yourself. But be weary, Ichabod Crane, for the Hessian's curse is to now haunt and guard these planes until judgment day and he has chosen _you_."

"Me?" He didn't like how ominous that sounded.

"You." Mrs Hawkins said with a confirming nod.

"Chosen me for what?"

"That must be something you ask of him yourself." The old woman said with a ... gleam in her eyes that was a mix of fear, respect and pity. Ichabod didn't know what to make of that, so he stayed silent until she left. An hour or so later, Masbet stirred and asked Ichabod questions and was asked questions in turn. Turns out, the Horseman had marched into the village and scared the living daylights out of everyone and continued to do so with his every reappearance since, standing guard stubbornly in front of the Van Tassel home, where Ichabod was recovering and resting. Katrina, though, was just as stubborn and had not budged, which had earned her many arguments with Mrs Hawkins and many complaints from the other villagers. A message was sent to New York, though, explaining what had happened and what the constables had done in as great a detail as any of them could without actually being there. Katrina spun a masterful tale about how the first assassin's pride being injured and how he had come for revenge, killing the constables and four bandits. The fifth bandit was used as a corpse for the Hessian since the man had shot himself in the head when he saw the Horseman approaching to kill him, so the 'assassin' was also 'taken care of' and the case can he considered closed. Ichabod was still required to go to New York and testify, but he didn't feel up to it and young Masbet agreed to take a letter from Ichabod straight to the commissioner and hand it over personally. Ichabod had already made his decision to stay.

He was tired of fighting for the truth in a system that couldn't care less if they were actually _trying_. He was tired of the hypocrisy and the fact that he was the only one who dared oppose the injustice of the court. Perhaps there will be a day when people agree with his ideas, but that won't be happening anytime soon and Ichabod didn't want to waste the rest of his life in a place he was not wanted. Sleepy Hollow is his escape and he will gladly take it. He and young Masbet could form a small law enforcement system within the village and carry on from there. He actually thought that he had more opportunities in this little town than in a big city like New York.

Besides, there was still that whole thing with the Hessian to figure out.

Like clock work, the sound of hooves thundering down the road that led to the Western Woods had everyone closing their windows and locking their doors, scared of the ghost that visited them with each sunset. Ichabod was feeling better - his wounds had been healed by magic and only bruising and soreness remained and a small scar left on his shoulder from the bullet hole that had been there - and so he had gotten up to see what was going on through the window. Only Daredevil stood in front of the lawn of the Van Tassel house, neighing in greeting when Ichabod peered through the window. The black horse stomped a little in place, beckoning him down and Ichabod complied after dressing with a reluctant Masbet's help. With a final nod to the boy and not a word exchanged between him and a scowling, huffing Katrina, Ichabod left the property and approached the waiting horse. Mindful of his still smarting ankle, Daredevil - much to the surprise of the spying curious villagers - knelt to let him get on. Gingerly sitting in the black horse's saddle, Ichabod grabbed the reigns, took a deep sigh, and gently nudged Daredevil to move.

Sleepy Hollow disappeared from his sight in the matter of a minute and he found himself feeling like he was flying as Daredevil tore through the Western Woods. If Ichabod didn't know better - and who knows, maybe he doesn't - he would say that the vegetation was parting for them as they ran through. All sounds of the village had already been silenced, too far out of reach for the human ear, and Ichabod didn't know why that left him feeling relieved. Was it because he feared what the people will think, him being saved by a murdering ghost that showed no mercy? Was it because of the tension going on between himself and Katrina? Did he wish to distance himself from young master Masbet's worry? Or was it simply the knowledge that none would dare follow him into the Horseman's domain? Was it that he knew _he_ was _safe_? Here, where no other would dare venture? The last time he had felt really safe was when he was little and spending time with his mother. Ironic, how the magic of this place could sooth him like nothing else when he had ran from it his whole life, hiding behind logic and reason.

And he _could_ feel the magic here. Perhaps the old hag was wrong and his mother's gifts were not entirely wasted on him. Time will tell, now that he planned on staying closer to nature. Maybe, if he ever gets over what had happened to his mother, he will try his hand at some ... simpler spells. He had a bad feeling him might need them, what with Mrs Hawkins' ominous words.

Any further thought on the matter was stopped with the Tree of the Dead entered his line of sight and a sense of deja vu swept over him when he saw a silent, motionless figure standing by it. Daredevil brought him all the way to the Tree this time and Ichabod found himself at eye level with the Hessian's grave. The roots of the Tree had grown completely over it in such an entangled mess that it would take an entire day, if not longer, to reach the bones that where beneath. Good. Ichabod could relax slightly now that he knew for sure that the Horseman's remains can never be tempered with again. Even if another Lady Van Tassel were to appear, she won't be getting any skulls from the Tree, not without getting killed at the end of the day. But that meant the Horseman didn't need Ichabod to fill in his grave, which left the ex constable wondering what _did_ the Horseman want.

When he dismounted, he found himself almost jumping high enough to mount daredevil again when he turned around and found the tall, well built, wild looking man a mere two or three paces away. He had not heard him approach at all. Only the ghost's face was as gentle as it had been upon greeting Daredevil for the first time whole, no traces of the mad and savage visage everyone painted him with, no traces of that cold yet burning rage as he took his vengeance on Lady Van Tassel. It eased Crane's nerves a little, although he was still weary. His eyes, however, nearly bulged out of his head when the Horseman knelt before him in a smooth motion that showed all his grace as a warrior. The Horseman took hold of Ichabod's hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing his knuckle like one would to royalty ... or a lady.

"Ichabod Crane," a gravely, deep baritone voice said and it took Ichabod only a second to realize it was the Hessian talking and his eyes, if possible, became wider while a blush spread across his usually incredibly pale face. Judging from the smirk he could both see and feel against his hand, the Horseman found him amusing. "Meine kleiner herr. Meine Liebe. Ich werde dir dienen. Ich werde dich schützen. Bis zum Gerichtstag. Bleib bei mir. Teile meine Kraft. Und ich werde dich befrein. Wirst du dei Wahrheit suchen? Oder wirst du den Teufel wagen?"

Ichabod may not be fluent in German but he did know enough of what he was being asked. The decision was not at all hard to make under the watchful gaze of those ice blue-gray eyes as one might think.

"Möge der Teufel vor uns zittern." Was his reply in not so fluent but understandable German. The Hessian's smirk was now a mix of smugness and pride, although he seemed incredibly pleased with himself.

Daredevil neighed his agreement and the Western Woods shuddered.

Truth or dare, devil?

Sleepy Hollow had its protectors.

 **DAS ENDE**


End file.
